Taciturnity
by Houyoku
Summary: I think disillusionment is a mere part of humanity. My blindness is a lapse in human weakness. My foolishness comes from years of naivety. But silence… is unforgivable. [Oneshot]


**_Taciturnity_**

© Becki

Ideas/Concepts Nintendo + Intelligent Systems

- - -

It's hard to imagine how to be strong when you're so weak.

My father was a weak man. From the beginning they knew it, they were never afraid to remind him of the Judgment. But he was too afraid to do anything. Even when they killed Ma, he had far more fear of them than he had love for her.

Da was a blacksmith, and he was the best there ever was in Lycia. He was successful, but I don't know if he was ever happy. Ma thought she was happy, but I never knew if I was. While Da was busy securing my dowry Ma taught me how to be a good wife. To this day I still know how to spin and cook. Both of them had hoped that I would get away from their trade and marry into a well-to-do family.

But that was before they found out that I could write magic. Da began to work for the Fang, so we moved closer to his workplace in Bern. Ma made handsome bows and had skills in carpentry. I found out that I had the skills to make weapons too, when I was sent to live with a distant relative who was a bishop at an old church in our town. He taught me how to read and write, and made me copy scriptures. One day I found a lightning spelltome and started to copy it. The holy man saw what I was doing and was angry. He meant to throw it away and make me copy different documents, but then he realized that it was a legitimate spell. There was such great shock in his face, spelltomes require special enhancements that the ordinary paper could not support. He had me copy more, though at that time, I never knew that I was being used. The church probably saved thousands of gold without having to buy the tomes.

Writing in the ancient speech of the tomes is just like copying anything else. Each word is essential to the phrase. It was said that the ancient tongue was a dead language that was once used in the Dragons' time. The first time I memorized the sacred texts spoken by Saint Elimine, each word spoke to my mind and made perfect sense with each other. I copied Lightning and Shine, and on one occasion, Divine. With each additional spelltome I wrote, my knowledge of the language grew. I think that even then, I could have spoken it fluently.

During those days I slaved away in my solitude. Though I enjoyed calligraphy far more than I enjoyed weaving, it was hard work and I still don't know why I was so driven to do it. My hands are still hard from the fine-detail work, there are so many scars from the blisters I once had. Around the church, the acolytes and postulants whispered about me, the elder men and women shook their heads in disbelief. My relative the bishop told me that I was blessed, that I was chosen by God to interpret the Holy Language. Word spread quickly.

Sonia came with Da to the monastery three years after, while I was still writing light tomes for the monks. Her very presence was ominous, and the frightened look on my father's face scared me into being as polite as possible. The monks in the monastery immediately shied away from her. Her manner of dress and appearance was embarrassing and improper for a holy place.

"Look up child," she ordered me snappishly, and I obeyed immediately. I was a small, scrawny child with disobedient obsidian hair and ice-blue eyes. She studied me carefully and with her sordid gold gaze looked back at the incomplete tome on my desk. She made a clicking sound with her tongue that meant some manner of disapproval.

"You're very fortunate," she said, her scarlet-painted lips curving into a somewhat sweet smile. "I have come to take you away from this place."

I stared at her feet. My hands were cold.

"Are you dumb? Speak up!" she ordered, and I realized that she was the type of person who demanded all attention. I swallowed timidly and gave a short nod. That seemed enough for her, and before I could retrieve my things and bid farewell to my few friends, I was already outside, and Da was still wringing his hands. From then on I lived in the mountains at the Fang headquarters. For the next two years I lived in the cold altitudes there, and I worked even harder. I was given more tomes to copy, volumes of old manuscripts with difficult writing in an older, thicker dialect of the ancient language.

I was also first introduced to staves one day when a Heal staff was delivered to my workplace. With great interest I studied the words running down the metal shaft. Staves are different from tomes in that they use fragments of phrases. I saw the word for _flesh_ and _revive_, but both words were cut in half and placed together with little space. The following week I made my first stave. Though metal is mostly used as the medium, I used wood from Ma. I sat at my desk with shavings in my lap and in my hair, using my stiff, deft hands to carve out the words. There was an accident when the knife slipped and cut my palm. I bled horribly, staining the wood. Needless to say, I avoided making more staves after that.

Through all of these trials and experimentation, I never quite understood what magic was used for. At the monastery, the monks had practice tome magic to practice their self-discipline. In the same way my father only made his weapons to sell them. In a childish mind, they were simply beautiful tools wrought by strong hands. Magic was a game in my mind, a puzzle. I played with it in however way I chose. When I taught myself how to compose magic, it was no different.

Athos wrote the Elfire book, and other rare tomes that have been long lost since the times of War. I studied a copy of the spell and memorized the differences between it and the composition of the lesser flame spell. Within a week I had drafted a wind-based spell. I called it Excalibur.

I was so proud of my accomplishment that I dared to show it to Ma. She seemed preoccupied, it appeared that she was prepared to leave on another mission. When I opened the book to show her, a passing mage, a sly man named Jules, saw it.

"What type of tome is that?" he queried strangely. He had a high-ish voice that always made me cringe. When I failed to answer he picked the book cleanly out of my hands and flipped through it. Ma watched me tentatively, her hand on my shoulder.

I watched as Jules' expression grew harder, burying his eyebrows in a deep frown. He was a novice with little experience with the ancient language, it was natural that he would be unable to read and execute the spell successfully. After a few minutes of his bewilderment, I put out my hand to retrieve it. He looked at me incredulously and closed the tome, holding it securely with his hands, preserving an ugly smile on his face.

"No, I think I'll take this," he said guardedly, and held it like a treasure. I stared at him impassively as he laughed and absconded with my precious work.

Ma said nothing, and shook her head. I returned to my workplace to draft a new spell.

Later in the day Sonia approached me, with the green-bound book in her hand.

"Did you write this?" I stared at the familiar cover knowingly, and wet my lips. She glanced at my work-in-progress, and dumped the book on my desk. "Still dumb are you?"

My hand dropped the pen and slowly reached to it. I meant to slide it closer until she placed a gloved finger on the cover and halted my progress.

"You will finish this and present a copy to Lord Nergal," she pronounced slowly. The woman stood back and wiped a finger across her lips. It seemed that she meant to say something else, but she changed her mind and released a scornful laugh. When she closed the door, the impact sent a rush of air strong enough to snuff the flame on my candle.

From that day on, Sonia sent somebody to come and check on my progress. On occasion it was Jules, looking smug and arrogant as usual. I felt that he envied me, the way he sneered and watched me patronizingly told me so. Da came to see me in the final stages of cleaning up the mechanics of the spell. He whistled at my small writing and admired the cluttered notes and rejected designs.

"You've been busy, I see," he noted. I spared no time to look up at him or reply, perhaps I was a little cold. The last time I had seen him was at the monastery with Sonia, and I felt somewhat neglected. He seemed to know this as well, and rubbed his hands like he did when he was nervous.

"I'm sorry that I haven't been able to spare you any time. The coming expedition to Valor has required weapons and my skills." I blew the wet ink carefully to prevent splattering and turned the page.

He began to praise me in roundabout, indirect ways, and mentioned that he was proud of me. The entire time I stared down at the work before me, concentrating on the final sentences. By the time I spared enough attention to look up, the tome was complete and my father had left.

The next morning, I signed my name on the inside of the front cover. For a moment I felt accomplished, like an artist laying claim on her work. I quickly copied it into an empty book and cleaned up my space.

With the final production wrapped in a burlap cloth under my arm, I closed the door to my room. It was snowing outside and the wind was fierce. Pulling my cloak over my nose, I loosened my hair so it fell over my ears and moved toward the Fang's quarters.

When I turned the corner, I heard loud moaning and screaming. Someone behind me roughly ran into me from behind, I fell against the wall and dropped Excalibur. The person mumbled a short apology and continued to run. I kneeled to pick up the tome and froze when I saw the source of the chaos.

Ma sat in the snow, her head resting on a young man's knee. There was a fountain of blood spilling over her shoulder and side, splashing warmth into the snow. The wound looked old, the stains on her clothes were aged and brown. A large amount of people were already gathered around her.

"A cleric!" the young man shouted amidst the shouting. Ma saw me with frantic eyes, and mouthed my name. She looked pale, and so dreadfully afraid. She was terrified.

"Wait," a tall woman ordered, she was standing toward the middle of the crowd. The young man looked up in surprise, for she had not been there a second ago. But she was none other than his mother-in-law. Sonia bent down and raised Ma's chin with her slender finger. Ma moaned softly in pain.

"What of the mission?" she asked icily. Ma gasped and closed her eyes.

"Fallen. The children have fled." Sonia violently slapped to back of her hand against Ma's cheek. She cried out and fell into the snow, her palms in the burning snow.

"Why have you returned?" Sonia demanded icily, "Have you come to exploit your putrescent failure to us?"

"Sonia!" the young man reprimanded. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Silence, Lloyd," she returned sharply. "You know of the Fang's judgment."

"Please, my lady," Ma stumbled and raised herself up on her palms. "We were met by an opposing force in Kathalet, and they were strong."

"You were defeated by strangers!" Sonia exclaimed. "By a ragged bunch of mercenaries bribed by two children? Why did you not die on the battlefield?"

When Sonia continued to yell at Ma, I was still in a kneeled position. My eyes darted to the ground, to where I had dropped the tome. It was not there. Frantically I shoveled aside the snow and upturned the white blankets, searching for the book. More people in the crowd were shouting now.

Just as I turned to look back at the situation, I heard a short scream. Clothes and hair flew wildly in all directions as the wind moved, moving the air into sharp currents. The bright energy of anima fell around the people, and moved rapidly toward the center. Mother grew rigid and a terrible cry came from her voice as Excalibur's blade pierced her body. Spurts of fresh blood sprinkled across the snow.

Her body fell for the third and last time in a cold heap. Everybody was silent.

"Are you satisfied, Sonia?"

My legs gave and I fell against the wall. Slowly, I turned my head behind.

The pages in the tome rustled in the wind, balanced precariously on his large, open palm. His uncovered eye appeared to be looking at everything at the same time. The loose end of his turban flapped madly in the wind. Involuntarily I scrambled away from him.

He ran a finger along the spine of the tome.

"Delightful," he said softly so only I could hear. "What a charming little spell." My mind relived that moment when my spell moved so quickly in the wind with attention to kill. I saw Ma again, her corpse falling into the white. After that moment, I think I understood the true nature of magic.

- - -

That night was the first time I had forgotten to cry. I was commissioned to make more tomes. I couldn't do anything else. So I made them; Luce, and Ereshkigal, in a span of over a year. I made what they called hybrid weapons by carving parts of spells into the handles and blades of swords. My misery was more than I could say, and Da didn't help either. He continued to make his weapons for them, and they grew stronger. Could anybody have any idea what true misery was? I can still remember the elation, the feeling of my face lighting up as I composed Excalibur, but those things simply vanished, and the two other tomes took eternity to write. Each time I sat down to work, I could only remember what my tomes were used for. If guilt could kill anybody, I would have suffered a hundred deaths.

I hated Sonia most of all. The way she grinned meltingly at me, the way she walked and ordered everybody about. But she was powerful. I hated that most.

During the night I stole an unrefined silver lance with an unsharpened top from Da's workplace. With a bright, orange knife I began to draw words, whatever came to my mind.

_Speak._ Ironic it was that the first word that came to mind was a command that Sonia gave me many times. I changed my mind, and put the negation character of the ancient language in front of the first. _Do not Speak._

_With weakness_. The silver melted easily under the hot iron blade. More words flashed from the knife to the iron shaft. _Be frail, no light, no wind, no darkness._

I stopped, and placed the knife into the hot coals beneath the fire to warm. Leaning back against the cold window, I closed my eyes to think. _Power is imperfect, it is bounded by life. Death is eternal, it is absolute and rules over power. Death is…_

I opened my eyes and retrieved the knife. With great precision, I branded the last few words on the shaft of the new stave.

_Death is Silence._

- - -

With _Silence_ in my hand, I fled the night. Not knowing where to go, I headed south, where my family once lived before my father introduced me to the Fang. There was something new that was driving me, an ambition to destroy _them_. This both frightened and excited me at the same time, I had never known such a feeling. My entire life I was like a puppet, a scribe of magic who lived at her desk all day. Da was weak, but I would be stronger, I would fight back.

My resolve nearly shattered when I entered the valley of villages. I saw two men of the Fang there, the first being Lloyd. Initially, I was sure that they were looking for me, but when Lloyd looked straight at me, he didn't recognize me and looked away. He was speaking to another man.

Darting into smaller streets, and pulled my cloak closer to my face and shivered. Fog crept into the roads, and the streets were congested with people. My mind was as hazy as the scene, I hardly remembered my way around. The path twisted around old houses and buildings, I continued to follow it until it led me to the monastery. I found asylum in it immediately.

The sanctuary was deserted, save for a bishop by the altar with a stave in his hand. Excitedly I quickened my pace down the aisle, but found disappointment when I did not recognize him.

"Oh, hello child," he said, looking at me. "Have you come for confessions?"

I dropped _Silence _on the steps to the alter and collapsed on my knees. _Speak._

"I- I have done terrible things." It sounded so strange to speak. He touched my head gently, and suddenly the doors behind me were thrown open. I flinched but stayed completely still.

"Father!" A monk came down between the pews, a light tome clutched in his hand. I saw it from the corner of my eye as he stood before the bishop. "Father, there is fighting outside the village." The old man looked at the young monk somberly, and removed his hand from my forehead.

"Fighting?"

"Black Fang. They have targeted a group of travelers."

"Quickly," the bishop urged him, "get the people inside of the church for shelter. God frowns upon the shedding of innocent blood."

I covered my eyes and trembled. He looked at me and averted his eyes.

"Go, daughter. Do what you must." He must have noticed my clothing, the typical dark garments of the Fang were undeniable. Picking up _Silence_, I promptly left the church.

I ran down the streets and moved to the edges of the town, looking over the fences. I could see the dark shadows of men in the fog with the sound of combat ringing in metal. A tall man in ordinary brown clothing pierced through the mist and was shouting to people behind him. I saw his red hair first, it was distinct through the whiteness.

"Hector, disarm that ballistae!" he shouted into the mist, making way toward the town. He stopped along the way to impale a man waiting to ambush him, a man that I recognized from the Fang Headquarters. The red-haired man was undaunted and entered through the gate. He didn't notice me a few steps away, and looked at the deserted place. I covered my head with the dark hood and placed out a hand to halt him. His eyes caught my gesture immediately and he moved his rapier quickly.

"Stop there," I said, my voice shaking. My fingers shook too.

"Who--" he began, a frown quickly forming his face when he saw my clothes.

"Be not alarmed. For my own reasons, I wear the garb of the Black Fang." I looked at his face and studied his features, they told me that he was not from Bern. "I am a citizen of Lycia, I am not your enemy."

I expected him to say something, but he did not. He looked at the stave in my hand. The dark blood dripped from the point of his sword. The words _With Weakness_ on _Silence_'s shaft were exposed to me.

"There is a woman who leads the Black Fang," I held _Silence_ in a horizontal position to him, "If you are to confront her, take this staff, use it against her. For this woman is the one you must seek, her name is Sonia." His hands closed around the cold metal shaft. I let go, and a huge burden lifted from my shoulders.

"Do not forget." As soon as my fingers left contact, I turned with a flow of my cloak. The hood fell away as I fled, my dark hair tumbled out. "Sonia!"


End file.
